


The Weight of Motherland

by Emily_Morrison



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Historical, Civil War, Drama & Romance, F/M, Loosely based on Kurt Seyit ve Sura, Revolution
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-25
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2019-02-06 16:48:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12821805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emily_Morrison/pseuds/Emily_Morrison
Summary: When the revolution strikes, lady Sansa Stark is forced to leave Petrograd and flee to her father’s homeland, the british-occupied Winterfell. On the verge of a civil war between english and the nationalists, Sansa never would have thought that she’d be reunited with a ghost of her past, the revolutionary Jon Snow.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is my first fanfic so any comments would be really appreciated.  
> Enjoy!

Sansa looked at herself in the mirror, all red and white, just like home. She closed her eyes, letting herself remember for no more than a second. It was snowing when she left, and the ground should have been covered in white. Yet everywhere she look was soaked in blood, all the places she used to call home were now destroyed and painted red. She forced herself to open her eyes, knowing it was too easy to reach the point of no return, to drown in the memories of another life.

She heard a knock on the door, and Mya Stone entered the room.

“They're here, ma’am.”

Sansa nodded, putting a smile on her face before walking the staircase. Sometimes she wondered if this was what it feels like to be an actor, like one of those ballerinas performing at the russian theater when she was just a girl. It was easier this way, to pretend she was just acting on a stage for just a few hours, and that soon it would all be over. She knew better than that, though. This night was part of her job, and every detail mattered.

She saw captain Ramsey Bolton waiting at the end of the stairs, and had to resist the urge roll her eyes. He offered his hand, which she accepted with shy smile, walking by his side while greeting the major and his wife, all Boltons. They came to Winterfell a year ago, sent by the queen herself in order to _maintain the peace_. England’s interest was no secret though; with end of the Great War and the bolshevik threat on the east of their borders, Winterfell would submit to anyone who could grant them peace. It would not be long until Winterfell became officially a british territory.

Sansa lead the group to the dining hall, sitting on the end of the table, with major Bolton in front of her and his son on her left. The major’s wife, Walda, sat on his left, holding his hand with her right hand while the left one rested on her belly, showing the first signs of pregnancy.

“How was the trip, major Bolton?” Sansa asked while the servants started to pour the wine on their glasses. She knew Roose Bolton would smile at this, he showed more love to his homeland than he ever did to his second wife.

“Well, it was just business.” he replied “But a day of work in England is worth a lifetime in Winterfell. You understand, of course. I believe you must feel the same way about Russia.”

“Of course,” Sansa said with a smile “Not a day goes by that I don’t miss it”

“It must be so strange,” said lady Bolton “To come back here after all those years in Petrograd.”

“At first I thought so,” Sansa agreed “Russia was my mother’s land, it was the place I grew up. But Winterfell has my father’s name written on it’s walls. It feels like home.”

“Let’s hope Winterfell becomes the home of our englishmen as well.” said major Bolton, and Sansa smiled, raising her glass.

“May all find peace and friendship in this land, major Bolton.”

“To peace and friendship.” major Bolton agreed, raising his glass. The others followed the gesture.

Just as Sansa gave a head sign to the servants to bring the food, Ramsey Bolton leaned in to her, whispering on her ear.

“When will that friendship desire extend to my bed?” she swallowed hard, but forced herself to smile.

“We’ll see.” she whispered softly, looking him in the eye. Under the table, she put her hand on his leg, and her once shy smile became more confident. Sansa knew Ramsey’s type all to well, all so confident they would get what they wanted in the end. She also knew that, if she played her part just right, he’d lose interest on her before christmas.

The time seemed to move in agonizingly slow until major Bolton decided it was time to go home. As soon as they left, she found herself in her room, with Mya Stone helping her undress.

“I see it was useless.” the girl commented, raising an eyebrow “Again.”

“Not entirely.” Sansa responded, with a victorious smile in her face. She took out her right glove, handing it to the servant “Look inside.”

Mya found a piece of paper carefully folded.

“I don’t understand.” she said after reading it “It’s just numbers.”

“Those are coordinates.” Sansa corrected “Ramsey had the note on his pocket.”

“And how did you managed to get it?” Mya asked, crossing her arms. Sansa understood the girl’s concern, it was a risky move.

“He didn’t notice, don’t worry” she said “I need you to give the note to mister Baelish first thing in the morning.”

“Of course.” Mya said. Sansa handed the girl her dress, dismissing her for the night before she started making any more questions.

Only when she was finally alone, Sansa allowed herself to let her guard down. She stopped in front of her dressing table, opening her jewelry box. Beneath her necklaces and earrings, she found a photograph. She laid on her bed, looking at the picture in her hands, and felt a single tear escaping her eye. They looked so happy, all seven of them, and Sansa thought that was the last time she'd felt safe, between her brothers and sister, underneath her parent’s wings. She felt asleep with the photograph in her hands, dreaming that tomorrow things would be better.

 

* * *

 

One would think that, after a year and a half, Sansa would stop hoping. Yet there she was again, reading name after name on the lists attached to the walls on the train station. It became routine, almost religion, to search for her family on sunday mornings. While some went to church, she’d go to the train station, to the harbor, to hospitals and soup kitchens, looking for any trace of those she left behind.

With time, she learned to accept the frustration that followed her routine. She had lost count of the number of times her heart skipped a bit at the mention of an unidentified person who matched with the description of one of her siblings, or when she had to read a name twice to make sure it was just similar to theirs. Sansa tried her best to ignore the voice on the back of her head, reminding her that they could be anywhere, or that they may not have survived. _Winterfell is their best chance_ , she kept saying to herself, _they will come home_.

The sun was already gone when she went back to the car, and the first drops of rained poured from the sky. As she sat in the backseat, Sansa allowed herself to put the frustration and exhaustion aside and simply enjoy the ride. Winterfell’s streets were a funny thing, still transitioning from horse carriages to automobiles, and it was not only the vehicles that showed the difference between Winterfell’s aristocrats and the common people. While Russia was large enough for the rich to forget the existence of the poor, Winterfell seemed like one big agglomerate, with large mansions and small houses only a few neighbourhoods apart.

She was brought back from her thoughts when the car suddenly hit something on the road and stopped. The driver left the car, knocking on her window only a few seconds later.

“It’s a flat tire, ma’am” he explained, almost screaming to made himself be heard through the rain “There’s a hotel just around the corner, you can wait there if you like”

She nodded in response, accepting his hand to get out of the car.

“You won’t be able to change it with the rain, Rodrik” she said “We’ll stay in the hotel until it stops”

He agreed, and guided her to the hotel. It was a small place, only two floors and a small garden. A man stood behind the front desk, with a boy on his side, no more than twelve years old, dressed like a butler in miniature form.

“Our car just broke” she explained to the man “I was hoping we could wait here until the rain stops”

“Of course. If you could wait by the fireplace,” he said, gesturing to the door on her right “I’ll have dinner served for you and your driver.”

She thanked him, already turning around, when the man called her again.

“I’m sorry miss, what is your name?”

“Sansa.” she responded with a smile “Sansa Stark.”

She noticed the boy’s eyes widening, and before she could say anything, he ran upstairs, mumbling something about telling his boss.

“Did I say something wrong?” she asked the man, who suddenly seemed incapable of looking her in the eyes.

“Of course not, miss.” he said, and Sansa noticed his hands were shaking “Forgive me, but-” he shook his head, as if trying to convince himself that it was foolish, but he asked anyway “Is there any chance you are related to Robb Stark?”

Sansa felt her knees failing her. She couldn’t remember the last time someone mentioned her brother, and she surely didn’t hope to hear it on a small hotel on Winterfell. By her side, Rodrik offered his hand, helping her regain her balance. She reached the front desk, holding so firmly her knuckles turned white.

“How do you know my brother?” she asked, almost in a whisper. Before he could answer, she heard footsteps approaching them from the stairs.

“Sansa?”

She turned around, seeing the man who called her, still half-way on the stairs. Sansa opened her mouth, but her voice failed her. Instead she walked towards him, so slowly she felt as if she was floating.

He hadn’t changed much since the last time she’d seen him. His hair were longer, and he a beard started to grow on his face. But his eyes were just the same, kind and worried at the same time

The man closed the distance between them, holding her in an embrace.

“I never thought I’d seen you again” he admitted.

“Me neither.” she said. Almost reluctantly, Sansa gave a step back, looking him in the eye as a smile formed on her lips “It is so sweet to see you again, Jon.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! First of all, I would like to thank everyone who commented or left kudos on chapter 1, it means the world to me!  
> I hope you like this one as well, and as usual, feedbacks are more than appreciated.  
> Enjoy!

“The last time I heard of you, you’ve just been made lieutenant.” Sansa said while he closed the door behind them. Jon’s room was simple, with a bed, a wardrobe, and two chairs in front of the fireplace. As she sat down, Sansa couldn’t help but notice how right the whole room felt, as if there was a bit of Russia in it “How did you ended up here?”

Jon sat on the chair by her side, running his hand through his hair as a sigh escaped his lips. He didn’t meet her eyes, instead, his gaze focused on something between the flames on the fireplace.

“After I was nominated, they sent me to Crimea. We fought for a year, but they had more men and resources-” He took a deep breath, and Sansa noticed a slight tremble on his left hand, for no more than a second. “Only twelve of us survived. Those who didn’t fall on battle died of cold and famine. I went back to Russia, to my mother, but she died a few months later.”

“I’m sorry.” Sansa heard herself saying, and a small part of her wanted to hold his hand and make sure he knew he she really meant it, but she shook those thoughts away and folded her hands in her lap.

“The doctors said she had been ill for a while, that she was only waiting for her son to come home.” He said, finally meeting her eyes as a sad smile appeared on his face “After she passed away, I sold all we had and came to Winterfell. I needed a job and the man who owned this hotel was eager to leave, so I bought it.” His face lighted up a bit, as if he just remembered an inside joke with himself “It’s funny how cheap things get when people are afraid. And the british are very good on making people afraid.”

Sansa nodded. She knew firsthand the truth of his words, of how hard life could be for anyone who disobeyed, who spoke out of turn, who dared to contradict the englishmen’s orders. She was one of the lucky ones, one of those who had enough money to buy their good side, and even she had her share of bad days, especially since the Boltons arrived - No, she wouldn’t go there. Not now, when she was safe and warm and with someone she could finally trust.

A knock on the door brought her back from her thoughts, and the same man she’d met downstairs walked in, offering them tea. Her face lighted up when she sensed the smell of lemon and ginger, just like the one her old nan used to make when she was sick.

“Thank you, sir-”

“Please, call me Davos.” He interrupted with a small wave of his hands “Any friend of Jon’s is my friend as well.”

“Well then” Sansa smiled in return “Thank you, Davos.”

He nodded, and without saying a word, Davos left, leaving the two of them lost in their own thoughts.

“And you,” Jon broke the silence, turning his whole body on the chair so he could be in front of her “How did you end up here?”

Sansa’s stomach sank. It was a simple question, and she should’ve predicted he’d ask after all he told her. Yet there was this voice on the back of her head, reminding her of how dangerous the truth could be. She bit her lip, taking another sip of her tea before responding to him.

“The same as everyone, I guess.” She finally said. “The bolsheviks came for my father in the middle of the night. My maid, Jeyne, hid me amongst the servants until they left. Next thing I knew, I was on a train to Winterfell.”

There was so much more to say, and for some reason she couldn’t explain, lying to Jon hurt more than she thought it would. But his eyes met hers, and it was as if, in a way, he understood.

When Rodrik appeared, saying the rain had stopped and the car was good to go, Sansa felt somehow sad, as if someone woke her up from a dream. Through the window, the first signs of sunlight reminded her there was no time for dreams and tea. She thanked Jon for the drink and the lovely night, and tried not to notice his puppy eyes right before she left.

“You know where to find me” Was all he said, and Sansa felt her heart warm up at his words.  

When she got home, on the other hand, it was as if all warmth had left her body. Sansa found the door to her library half open, and she sensed him before she could even see who was inside.

“Mister Baelish?” She called, closing the door behind her before turning in his direction. Petyr Baelish stood with his back to her, humming a lullaby while his long fingers flipped through the pages of some random book. He turned to her with a grin, placing the book back on the shelf before stepping closer to her.

“The note you sent me was quite useful.” He said.

“Will you tell me what for?” She asked, with her eyes focused somewhere between the bookshelves. He surrounded her like a cat about to jump to his prey, but Sansa would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her as a little bird.

“There is no need to concern yourself with actions of war, lady Stark.” He said, raising his hand to touch her cheek. “All that matters is that you continue to do your job.”

She turned her head away from his touch, looking him dead in the eye.

“Why are you here?”

“You didn’t come home last night.” He stated. Before she realised, Petyr was only inches apart from her, and Sansa had to resist the urge to give a step back.

“The car broke” she explained with a neutral face. “I told Rodrik he could wait until the rain stopped to fix the tire.”

Petyr nodded. With his thumb on her chin, he rose her head, and this time, she didn’t move away.

“You know I am very fond of you, Sansa” He said in a low voice. It could have been a whisper, a love declaration, but she easily noticed the silent threat between his words. He stared in her eyes for a long second before continuing “And because of that, I give you some liberties the others don’t have. I expect you to use it well.”

“I do my job, mister Baelish” She stared back at him. Her face remained neutral, and her voice calm. “You don’t need to worry about me.”

Petyr didn’t respond, instead, he tilted his head, a movement so small that almost went unnoticed. He seemed to study her for a second, to see if she really was as brave and certain as she sounded. Sansa swallowed hard, not breaking the eye contact, and even though they were almost the same height, she felt at least a head smaller than him.

After a long pause, he stepped back, giving her a smile.

“I hope you are right, lady Stark” he said, turning his back on her. Petyr was almost on the door when he turned his head on her direction, just enough so she could see his face. “And I hope I don’t need to worry about mister Snow as well.”

Mister Baelish didn’t look at her this time, yet knew he’d caught her off guard. He opened the door, whistling a lullaby as he left, and Sansa closed her eyes, trying to escape from the music that crept into her head. She knew the song all too well, it was the one that played on her nightmares, the one her mother taught her when she was just a child.

It was the song Sansa sang to herself on that fateful night, almost two years ago, when her world turned upside down and all she could do was keep her eyes shut and her head down and sing to herself, with her knees pressed against her chest and tears streaming down her face as she rocked back and forth on the cold ground of the cellar that smelled of blood and wine at the same time.

It was the song Sansa Stark sang when she was found by Petyr Baelish.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this chapter is shorter than the first one and I'm so sorry about that! This week has been crazy for me, and since I have this huge exam tomorrow I wasn't able to write as much as I wanted to. I'll try and make it up to you guys next week, I promise :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all I would like to thank you all for your comments on the last chapter (they really mean a lot to me) and apologize for the delay. When I first started writing I truly believed I could update on chapter per week, but life got in the way and it took me way longer than expected to finish chapter three. I'm still not sure what I think of this one but I couldn't let 2017 end before updating at least one more chapter hahah.

The Stark Manor never really felt like home to her, but it did felt familiar, and perhaps that was part of the problem. Everywhere she’d go, there was something that belonged to the starks before her. The piano belonged to her grandmother and the library was filled with her grandfather’s books. Even some of the staff were already there on the days of her uncle Brandon. But Sansa didn’t mind, in fact, she grew used to this strange familiarity, and for some time, she almost convinced herself that she belonged there.

But that was before last month, when Petyr Baelish entered her library - no, her uncle’s library - as if he owned it. Which of course he did, he was the one who bought her the house back, who filled her wardrobe with dresses and signed the servant’s paycheck. It was for her own safety, he would claim, and more importantly, it was his job, so that she could do her job as well. In the end, the house, the staff, every book from every shelf and every note she would ever play on the piano belonged to him. She should have known from the start that nothing, not even her own life, could ever belong to her.

Sansa putted on her coat and gloves, forcing herself to leave this thoughts behind as she left her bedroom, as if she could look them inside until she came back. It was sunday, and there were more important things to worry about.

Rodrik insisted to drive her to the train station, as he always did, but Sansa refused with a smile.

“I could use some fresh air.” Sansa told him, and it even though it was just half true, Rodrik seemed convinced enough. As he left her with nothing more than a nod and a smile, Sansa had to suppress a sigh of relief. It felt like a small victory - Petyr Baelish could own her house and her staff and her life, but not her sundays.

When she arrived, however, that sweet taste of victory left her lips. She saw the kids waiting outside, playing with empty cans and balls made of paper, unaware of the war that surrounded them, of the englishmen armed to the teeth, of the women who waited on the platforms for the husbands and brothers that would never return, and for the first time, Sansa could not bring herself to enter the train station, to read the names on the board and be selfish enough to believe they would come for her.

Perhaps that was all she was, selfish, hoping that her siblings survived just so they could be dragged to another war. If they were lucky, they could have gone to England or France, far away from all the fighting and scheming and _her_. She could offer them nothing but more suffering anyway.

She wasn’t sure how long she stood there, not knowing what to do or where to go. She turned around, convincing herself it was best to go home, when a pair of dark eyes met hers.

On the other side of the street, Jon smiled at her, and she felt her hands sweating inside her gloves. Petyr’s words echoed in her mind, and for a moment she wondered how bad would it be to turn around and pretend she hadn’t seen him. But she saw him crossing the street to her direction, and before she knew it, Sansa’s feet were betraying her, moving towards him.

“I was hoping I’d find you here.” He said. Sansa’s eyebrow raised in response, and for a second, Jon’s expression seemed almost embarrassed. He soon explained himself. “Last time we met you said you were looking for you family. And well, I thought you could use some company.”

The voice in her head tried to protest, to remind her what a terrible idea that was. Petyr would grow suspicious, and no good could come from that.

But perhaps it was the hint of hope his expression, or the simple fact that she had been on her own for so long, that made Sansa nod in agreement. Jon’s face lit up, and he gestured with his hand for her to lead the way.

Sansa couldn’t help but notice, as they walked side by side, how the cold afternoon of Winterfell now seemed warmer, if only a little.

 

* * *

  

By the end of the afternoon, Jon suggested they stopped by a tea shop. Sansa reassured that he had already done more than enough for one day, but he insisted, and she quickly gave in.

Jon choose a table by the window, and as he went to the balcony by the end of the shop, Sansa found herself alone with her thoughts. She held her chin on her hands, focusing on the view on her right, on the empty streets and the orange leaves that slowly fell out of the trees. Petrograd would be no different at this time of the year, she remembered, and her mind censured herself. It was time to let them go.

When Jon came back, only a few minutes later, he couldn’t help but notice her distant, sad eyes and her thoughtful expression, as if she fought a war with herself in her head. He placed the two cups of tea on the table between them, and as he sat in front of her, his eyes were filled with concern.

“I’m sorry today didn’t go as expected.” He said with a low voice. His fingers held tight to the cup between his hands, and Sansa noticed, for the first time, how nervous he seemed, as if he feared scaring her away.

“Perhaps it is for the best.” She answered, with her eyes fixed on the tea. Jon let out chuckle that sounded almos of disdain, to which Sansa raised an eyebrow.

“You starks are like wolves, you belong together.” He explained, and Sansa caught herself smiling, remembering something her father told her a long time ago. _The lone wolf dies_ , his voice echoed in her ears, _but the pack survives_.

Before she could say anything, a waiter approached their tables, placing a piece of cake in front of Sansa.

“It’s lemon.” Jon told her, and Sansa’s eyes immediately went wide. “I hope they’re still your favorite.”

“They are.” she answered, already grabbing a bite. She leaned back on her chair, eyes closed, her mind finally at peace, and Sansa felt like a ten year old all over again. When she opened her eyes, Jon was holding back a laugh “I haven’t eaten one of these in ages.” She defended herself.

“Well, I did own you one of these for quite some time now.” He said, and Sansa felt her cheeks starting to blush. She remembered all too well of that summer that seemed like a lifetime ago, when Jon was just the annoying friend that helped Robb stealing her lemon cakes and hiding mices under her bed.

“I hope you don’t have any rats with you this time.” She joked.

“And I hope you won’t have any books to throw at me.” Jon replied, and Sansa raised an eyebrow, a sharp answer already on her lips, but Jon continued, failing to hide the laugh that grew on his throat. “Or at least, I hope that your aim has improved since last time.”

Her response died in her lips, and before she knew, Sansa too was laughing, the image of hitting Jon as he and Robb ran with her lemmon cakes fresh on her mind.

Their eyes met, and silence grew once again between them. Neither of them seemed brave enough to speak, to ruin the memories with words and make this happiness so unusual, so longed for, fade away.

It was Jon who broke the silence, pulling of an envelope from the pocket inside of his coat before leaning on her direction. When he handed it to her, the smile faded from his lips.

“I kept these with me when I came to Winterfell,” He told her “but I believe you need this more than I do.”

Inside the envelope, Sansa found two pictures. The first of them were of Jon and Robb, on their White Army uniforms and with forced smiles on her face. Both of them were still slim and with childlike features, but the uniform fitted them perfectly. She remembered how proud her mother was when she saw her brother on the uniform for the first time. Lady Catelyn was hardly an emotional woman, but that afternoon tears ran free through her face. Sansa felt her own tears forming on her eyes, and with a sad smile, she moved to the next picture.

It was her brother’s portrait, still with the army’s uniform, now a few years older. His hair was longer and there was a mustache right above his lips, but it was his expression that had changed the most. His proud smile on the first two pictures was now just a small grin, and his eyes looked darker, more tired.

“I remember when he came home that year.” Sansa found herself saying, not sure if to Jon or to herself “He had a beard along with that mustache. Mother was horrified, she wouldn’t talk to him until he shaved.” She took a sip of her tea, and a sad smile appeared on her face. “They only spoke again after dinner, when mother agreed that Robb could keep the mustache.”

“He was a stubborn man, your brother.” Jon said, leaning back on his chair. Sansa nodded, meeting his eyes again.

“He was. God, how he annoyed me. If you think the worst thing he has done to me was stealing my lemon cakes, you have no idea.” She told him with a giggle. Sansa tilted her head, and her gaze fell to the picture again. “But he was still my older brother, always looking out for me.”

Sansa raised her head, and their eyes met. There was some sadness on Jon’s eyes as well, some concern, and for a moment she thought he was hiding something, but the thought soon vanished away. Sansa’s throat suddenly seemed dry, and she lowered her head as her lips met the cup again, a million questions appearing on her mind. Just this morning she was sure her servants were spying on her, and now she was trusting the man in front of her without second thoughts. When did she ever trusted someone so blindly?

But at the same time, this was _Jon_ , a little voice inside her head reminded her, _how could she not trust him?_

When she put the cup back on the table, the air seemed to change between them. She focused on the pictures in front of her, feeling Jon’s eyes travelling from her to the pictures and then back at her again, wondering, perhaps, if he did the right thing. Then, he smiled at her, small, shy smile that made all her doubts go away, if only for a while. 

“Thank you, Jon. Truly.” Sansa raised her head. Jon smiled at her, a small, shy smile that made all her questions go away, if only for a while.

Her right hand ran across the table to hold his before she met his eyes again.

This time, she did not look away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's it for today. I hope you enjoyed reading it and as always, your feedback would be very appreciated!


End file.
